


Tim Stoker Deserved Better

by glitter_bitch



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drinking, End Avatar Tim Stoker, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Promises, Season 3 Spoilers, Strippers & Strip Clubs, The End, The Stranger - Freeform, Wakes & Funerals, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23983822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitter_bitch/pseuds/glitter_bitch
Summary: Some short oneshots for Tim Stoker Appreciation Week!
Relationships: Danny Stoker & Tim Stoker, Not Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Sasha James & Tim Stoker
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16
Collections: Tim Stoker Appreciation Week





	1. Funeral

Something huge, that was the agreement. Whichever one of them kicked it first, it was the responsibility of the other to throw the rager of the decade in celebration. Put the 'fun' in funeral, as it were.

Of course that had been a joke. Words between brothers who were young enough to think they'd live forever, not to a measly twenty-seven.

But a promise is a promise, and so here Tim was, eyes red-rimmed, and fighting tears in the middle of a smoke-filled strip club trying to ignore the headache being brought about by the thumping bass and flashing lights.

It was only him here. His and Danny's circles had split pretty quickly after high school when he left for college, and he  _ certainly _ didn't know any of his friends now. Couldn't even pick them out at the funeral because there hadn't  _ been  _ a funeral. There wasn't even a body, and the case was technically still open. For some reason he didn't trust the police to take his testimony of seeing a long-dead Victorian clown who had killed and skinned his brother in the basement of an opera house seriously.

He finished his drink and waved down a scantily-clad waitress.

"Hey big boy," she said in a low sultry voice, barely audible over the music, "Whatcha need?"

"Another drink. Something… big and… strong and fruity."

Getting shitfaced was the goal of the evening, but the taste of the straight vodka he'd been drinking was getting to him. Danny would've made fun of him for the phrasing, which somehow made it sting worse when the waitress just winked and took off towards the bar.

Tim let himself slump forward resting his cheek against the cool, sticky surface of the table. He glanced up at the ceiling miserably, "I hope you're happy up there, you bastard.”

The drink came back, bright, and colorful, and far too saccharine for his taste, but he was past the point of caring. He took a long heavy swallow.

He raised it in a toast. “This should have been you.”


	2. Avatar

The explosion was supposed to be the end. He’d known it was the end when he pushed the button and the world went all white and gold and red, and he hadn’t even felt the heat to be honest. It was a relief to not feel anything at that point, and he was ready to sink into the dark knowing that he’d finally avenged his brother.

But then the feeling started coming back. Slowly at first. A tingling like his foot had fallen asleep but all over his body. He tried to open his eyes to see what was happening, and everything was blank around him. Not dark, just… empty.  He waved a hand around in front of his face, and it was difficult to make out, but it was there at least. It was dark blue, or maybe black, faded around the edges. Faint traces of sparkling silver ran through it like veins. This was new.

As his eyes adjusted, he noticed that the rest of him had ended up like this too. It was him- there was no denying that, the shapes were all right, and everything seemed to be in place- but there was something… galactic about him. As he peered into the space that was him, he could see glimmers like stars and faint trails of colors that might be meteors or supernovae exploding and reforming instantaneously. 

Something settled in his stomach- a realization. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, but it was an interesting development. Of all the entities who might have claimed him in his final moments, The Web, The Slaughter, hell, even The Desolation, he certainly hadn’t been expecting The End to reach out of its seclusion and pull him in.

Curiously, he reached out and poked himself in the thigh. The stars within him scattered and morphed into new constellations. He felt cold all over, but it was strangely right.

He had played his part, avenged his brother, _ could _ have rested in peace. But now the thought of a second chance didn’t seem half bad at all. 

When he’d managed to gather himself enough to stand, he did. Slipped his hands into his pockets- or where his pockets should have been- and started walking, where he didn’t know, but off into his new un-death.


	3. Stranger

Sasha’s computer wasn’t working. Again. Tim tried to help- he always tried to help, but it never did much good. In fact, he suspected he was actually making the problem _worse_ , with his rampant clicking around the frozen screen. He wiggled the mouse, but no dice.

“Sorry, Sash, looks like we’ll need to get IT to come down. Again. For the third time this week.”

Sasha frowned. “It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose! If you ask me, I think some of those worms got into the wires and chewed them up or something.”

“I mean, that doesn’t sound right to me, but I don’t know enough about computers to debate you.”

Sasha stuck out her tongue at him, which wrinkled her nose. (Was that the first time he’d noticed that?) She jumped up on the desk, letting her legs dangle off the edge. “I’m betting they’ll take their sweet time getting here. I’m starting to think they don’t like me very much. See me as some kind of technological illiterate.”

Tim shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

Sasha laughed and flipped him the bird.

Tim raised a hand to his chest. “You _wound_ me, Miss James.”

“I’m a ruthless woman, Mr. Stoker.”

Tim laughed. Sasha smiled thinly. (She hadn’t always been this deadpan, had she?)

“They might get here faster if you actually call them,” he pointed out.

“You make a good point, but have you considered, I don’t care if they come?”

(Now that was definitely wrong. Sasha hadn’t ever been one to avoid work. Of course that was before the whole Jane debacle…)

Tim ran his fingers over one of the small circular scars in his forearm. It still throbs a little, even though it should be long-healed by now. “Thanks, by the way. I don’t know if I ever said it out loud, but thank you.”

She smiled, confused. “For what?”

“Christ, Sasha, what do you think? For pushing me out of the way of Prentiss.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Honestly I’d forgotten. There was so much going on. I really… saved your skin back there, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.” Tim glanced at his scars. “Well, most of it anyway.”

“Well I’m only human,” she retorted. “Besides I think they make you look rugged. Mysterious even. The kind of man you lock eyes with across a crowded bar and then spend one passionate night with before he disappears, never to be seen again.”

“Careful, Sash, I’m starting to think you’re not over me.” He paused. “They look that good, huh?”

“Of course they do! You wouldn’t doubt your dear, old Sasha, would you?”

(There was something about the way she put the emphasis on ‘old’ that made him uneasy. He brushed it off.)

“You still haven’t called them.”

“But I don’t _want_ to call them! Be a doll, and do it for me?” She batted her eyes, exaggerated.

Tim put on a thinking face, acting as though he was weighing the options. “All right,” he said finally, “But the first round is on _you_ tonight.”

“Deal,” she grinned. 

And he trusted her. 

She was right, after all. He just couldn’t bring himself to doubt his dear, old Sasha.


End file.
